


Sail away

by Builder



Series: Heroverse [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mission Fic, Seasickness, Sickfic, Sort Of, Vomiting, but more of the same, except not a mission fic, second chapter is completely unrelated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-11 06:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12929877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: CH 1: An undercover mission involving a yacht and an island seems like a nice escape.  Except Steve can't seem to stomach it.CH 2: More of the same, except it's not a mission, and Bucky's there too.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bleucheeks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleucheeks/gifts).



> This was a prompt from Tumblr. Find me @Builder051
> 
> I know this one is super short, but I really love how it came out.
> 
> @bleucheeks, I don't think you were the requester for either part, but you've been such an encouragement, and I know you love Sick Steve, so I dedicate all of this to you.

“Why couldn’t Clint do this with you?” Steve asks.  He lets go of the yacht’s railing and plays with the zipper on his hoodie, unable to decide if he’s too hot or too cold.  Only one thing is clear in his mind.  He’s had enough of being undercover.  And they’re not even at the destination yet.

 

“He’s busy,” Nat says.  “Doing something, somewhere.”

 

“Is it classified?”

 

“He’s taking the kids to Disney World.  Very hush-hush.”  Nat grins.

 

“Right.”  Steve pushes his hair back off his forehead.  A thin sheen of sweat decorates his skin.  He turns so he’s facing into the wind, and its chill immediately takes over and shoves him into the opposite spectrum of discomfort.

 

They’re supposed to be masquerading as a stylish couple vacationing on the island, hence the private boat and their civilian clothes. Nat looks like a perfume ad in her jeans and low-cut top, hair rippling in the open-ocean breeze. 

 

Steve feels disheveled in comparison.  He’s similarly dressed in casual pants and a lightweight jacket, but tremors work their way through his body, and perspiration is already blooming again. 

 

“What’s wrong with you?” Nat asks.  She gives him a look.  “I thought you liked adventures.”

 

Steve shrugs.  He’s not exactly sure himself.  Little boat?  Choppy sea?  Undecided weather?  Whatever the cause, he’s getting fed up with the effects.  If he’s going to stand here shivering until he spills his guts just because he’s on a fucking boat… he shakes his head.

 

It’s a mistake.  The motion ratchets up the vertigo, and Steve wraps his hands around the railing again.  He squints out at the horizon bobbing in the distance, but it doesn’t help.  He tries peering at the water, but it’s even worse, so Steve swallows hard and returns his gaze to Nat.

 

“Are you seasick?”  She looks like she’s about to burst out laughing.

 

“”M fine,” Steve mumbles.  But now that she’s mentioned it, his nausea’s decided to swell up like an overfilled water balloon at the back of his throat. 

 

“God, you are,” Nat says, a bit more concern tinging her voice this time.  “Why didn’t you say something?”

 

“Forget it.”  Steve takes half a step forward so his stomach’s pressed up against the railing between his hands.  “I’m fine.” 

 

“Take a deep breath.”  Nat pats him lightly on the back.  “It’s ok if you’re nauseous.  It’s not like it’s a personal flaw or anything.”

 

“Don’t say it,” he warns.  If he admits he’s feeling sick, he’ll be sick for sure.  He’ll be fine.  He’ll breathe through it.  He’ll hold on for ten or twenty minutes or however long it’s going to take for the boat to pull up to the marina. 

 

Steve almost chokes the next time he swallows.  There’s more saliva in his mouth than expected.  Nat seems to see the rapid up-and-down of his adam’s apple, and she squeezes his shoulder.  It’s probably meant to be comforting, but it just feels oppressive. 

 

“No,” Steve grinds out.  “Thanks, I mean, but…”  He may as well be somersaulting over the railing; nothing is holding still and cold clamminess spreads over his hands and feet. 

 

Nat lets go, but stays close.  “Just throw up.  It’ll probably feel a lot better than standing there swallowing it.”

 

She has a point, but it’s lost in the vulgarity of the words.  Steve gags and impulsively presses his fist over his mouth to keep everything internal.  Warm liquid and undigested something hovers around the back of his mouth. 

 

“Sorry,” he murmurs.

 

“Shut up,” Nat says.  “We’re on a fucking boat.  A lot of people get seasick.”

 

Steve feels himself sway.  His stomach clenches, and before he knows what’s happening he’s tipping forward.  He folds in half over the railing, heaving hard. 

 

Nat has both hands on his waist to keep him from falling, so Steve dangles, feeling the blood rush to his aching head.  He vomits again and is grateful the ocean’s there to absorb it so he doesn’t have to see what he’s bringing up. 

 

When he’s somewhat back under control and couching hard, he pulls back.  Steve presses his forehead against the back of his folded arm.  Hiding his face makes him feel worse, though, so he’s forced to stand up and decidedly avoid eye contact with Nat.

 

“It’s ok,” she says.  “Really, I don’t care.  I’ve seen you injured and stuff before.”

 

Steve’s embarrassed, but now, as his stomach continues to clench and the muscles in his throat contract, it’s down on his list of concerns.  Something rises, and he presses his fist to his mouth again to stifle the wet belch.  Then he settles for resting his elbows on the railing and holding his head between his hands. 

 

“I don’t feel good,” he groans.

 

Nat pats him on the back.  “I got that part.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The much anticipated and completely unrelated sequel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The great void of Tumblr demanded a part II, so here it is. With Bucky this time.

“I don’t know why you didn’t want to do this,” Bucky says, pulling his arm around Steve’s shoulders. “This is nice.”

 

Steve shrugs and turns his gaze away from the horizon. If he only thinks about the man beside him, it is nice. The sea breeze is biting a blush of pink into Bucky’s cheeks, and his hair whips around his chin. Steve smiles and shifts his hands on the railing. “Yeah…”

 

“You want a drink?” Tony asks, clinking bottles from the yacht’s bar. “A beer? Or a coke?”

 

“I’m ok, thanks,” Bucky says.

 

Steve turns further to look over his shoulder. Tony extends the same offer to Nat and Bruce, who are lounging on one of the deck’s couches.

 

“You got ginger ale?” Nat asks.

 

“Yeah, you want some?” Tony gives her a quizzical look. “I thought straight vodka was more your style.”

 

“I was just checking,” she says, looking over Tony’s head to give Steve a knowing glance.

 

Steve lets out his breath and gives his head the smallest shake. Then he gazes out over the water again.

 

A few minutes pass in silence, save the sound of the waves hitting the boat. Steve reminds himself that this is fun. This is down time. This is team building. No mission. No need to be nervous or get worked up. But all the while, the movement of the ocean is setting up a sickly shaking sensation behind his eyes.

 

“I like this,” Bucky murmurs. “It’s peaceful.”

 

Steve should be happy to hear that. Bucky has enough trouble having fun and finding joy; Steve wishes he could say “ _then let’s do this every weekend_.” Instead he asks, “How does that figure? It’s the Atlantic. It’s cold and choppy.”

 

“It kind of reminds me of the docks,” Bucky admits. “And…and the war. I know that’s not really peaceful, but… It’s a time I liked a lot better.”

 

“Hm. Makes sense,” Steve says. He thinks about asking another question, since Bucky’s being so open and nostalgic, but pressure builds deep in his throat and he has to swallow. It sends his stomach in a slow-motion flip. He takes a long breath.

 

Bucky cocks his head and gives Steve an odd look. “You ok?”

 

“Mm-hm. Fine.”

 

“You telling me the truth?”

 

Steve’s mouth waters in a threatening way, and he scrapes his tongue over his teeth and swallows again before answering. “I’m ok. I’m fine.” He tries to convince himself as much as Bucky.

 

“You don’t look so good.” Bucky’s eyes pass over Steve’s face, lingering on the perspiration beading on his forehead.

 

Steve forces down his nausea, acutely aware of the four other people on the deck behind him. He can hear Tony and Pepper laughing. Having fun. Bucky’s having fun. He can’t ruin everyone’s good time.

 

Bucky leaves his metal arm around Steve’s shoulders and passes the backs of his flesh knuckles under Steve’s jaw. “Stevie, talk to me. You feeling sick?”

 

Steve slowly lets the air out of his lungs. He’s beginning to taste his breakfast. He needs to get a grip right now or things aren’t going to end well. “Don’t worry about it. I’m alright.” It comes out more brusquely than he means it to. He brings his fist up to his mouth.

 

“No, you’re not. Stop trying to hide—”

 

“Shit.” Steve gags. He wills the burn in his throat back down, but he can’t suppress it anymore. He leans forward and tries to turn away from Bucky as he throws up.

 

“Hey, alright.” Bucky pats him on the back. “You’re gonna be ok.”

 

Steve heaves again and breaks off hacking. “Sorry,” He whispers as he tries to catch his breath.

 

“Hey, taking care of you when you’re sick…I still know how to do that,” Bucky says, digging in his pocket for a tissue.

 

“Ugh. Thanks.” Steve wipes his mouth and nose, then wads the Kleenex up in his trembling hand.

 

“You ok? I mean, you can tell me if you feel bad.”

 

“I’m ok, really,” Steve rasps. “Just, I don’t know. Seasick.” His pale cheeks flush with embarrassment.

 

“I didn’t know you got seasick,” Bucky says. “Happens to a lot of people, though.”

 

“Right, well,” Steve says through a hiccup. “You didn’t ship out with me.” Footsteps approach, and he turns to see Nat offering a bottle of ginger ale. “Or go on stupid maritime missions with me…” Steve doesn’t make eye contact with Nat as he accepts the beverage.

 

“This happened before?” Bucky asks, gazing at the back of Nat’s retreating head. “Why didn’t you say anything? I know you didn’t really want to do this today, but…”

 

Steve shrugs. “Complaining doesn’t make it any better.”

 

“What does make it better?”

 

“Getting off the goddamn boat,” Steve mutters.

 

He can already feel the yacht making a U-turn and heading back the way they’d come. Nat must’ve given Tony a tip-off, and he must’ve re-set the driverless technology to take them back to the dock. It’s confidence-boosting, but the change in direction strengthens his vertigo. He slumps into Bucky, who arranges it so Steve’s head rests on his shoulder.

 

“That makes it a little better, too,” Steve says.

 

“That’s good,” Bucky replies. “But next time, tell me beforehand, alright punk?”


End file.
